The Age-Old Addendum
by freshface
Summary: Katie has always thought she was one of the boys. It's only until she has to pretend to be one of them that she realizes how much of a girl she really is. (Oliver/Katie, Marcus/Katie, Katie/OC)
1. 1: All Buttered Up

**Author's Note: **This plot bunny decided to bother the heck out of me once I started reading HP fanfiction again. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. This was inspired when I caught a friend reading an article on "The 4 Types of Guys Women Usually Date" and I thought it was the most hilarious thing in the world.

**Disclaimer: **Seriously?

**Summary: **Katie has always thought she was one of the boys. It's only until she has to pretend to be one of them that she realizes how much of a girl she really is.

**Chapter One - All Buttered Up**

Being hospitalized St. Mungo's is a little boring. While all my friends were at Hogwarts studying and my parents were hard at work, I was stuck here with my mind as my only form of entertainment. I've been here for weeks now, and I've already memorized every magazine and book from front to back, and Mr. Owen, the other patient sharing the room, complained about the wireless, so listening in on Quidditch scores was a negative. This meant that my only form of company was my conscience, and Merlin knows how dangerous that is.

Ever since the cursed necklace incident, I wanted to kick my face in for being such a girl. I'm pretty sure I've done that to myself for every minute I'm stuck in this hospital room.

See, I've always prided myself as being one of the guys. I'm not the type of girl to fuss with styling potions and charms to make myself look pretty. Even if I'm not a girly girl, I'm still a girl nonetheless. When Madam Rosmerta showed me that beautiful necklace and placed it in the package, it was hard _not_ to be hypnotized.

Today would be another one of those days where I wallowed in self-pity for being a girl and subject to being enticed by fancy jewelry. Four hours later, my parents will come over from work and fuss over me, and then I'll have a date with my annoying physical therapist who can't seem to understand that I'm still super weak.

So you can understand my surprise when I saw a familiar-looking man trailing behind the mediwitch that delivered my daily lunch.

"Here she is, Mr. Deverill. I'll be transporting Mr. Owen so that you can have your privacy," the mediwitch told the guest as she faced him. Then she pivoted from her spot to face me, "Katie... this is-"

"Philbert Deverill!" I realized the excessive enthusiasm I had in my voice and cleared my throat to regain my composure. "Uh... I mean, Mr. Deverill, nice to meet you?"

You have to understand the gravity of the situation here. Philbert Deverill is a legend. When he was a Quidditch player, he took Puddlemere to the championships. I idolized his chasing skills for a good part of my elementary years. Then, he simply followed the professional Quidditch cycle, which was retiring and having a desk job still heavily involved with the team you used to play for. Mr. Deverill was currently the manager for Puddlemere United.

It also helped that Mr. Deverill aged nicely. I've never seen a man look so fit in a suit with greying hair. I thought I was dreaming, but he still had that blasted ring on his finger.

Katie, hormones off. This guy is old enough to be your dad. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's older than your dad.

I must've spaced out for a good while, because Mr. Deverill's hearty chuckles interrupted my thought processes. Damn, he even has a sexy laugh.

"Miss Bell?" he questioned as his hand with that blasted ring waved around in my face. "Should I fetch the mediwitch?"

I looked to my right to see if the elderly Mr. Owen was there, but I saw only a faint outline of his body on his cot. The mediwitch that brought Mr. Deverill here was also missing, so she likely levitated his body to another room.

"It's not necessary, Mr. Deverill," I responded. I could feel my cheeks redden at his concern for me.

To see this Quidditch god casually stroll into my room at St. Mungo's was a dream come true. I didn't just nearly faint; I'm pretty sure I died and went to heaven. He started talking, but I was too entranced by his presence to respond.

"... You've been asked to join Puddlemere's reserves," the sexy coach's deep and raspy voice interrupted my thoughts.

Okay, I'm pretty sure I'm dreaming.

I must've looked like a complete idiot, because he just gazed at me in confusion. A girl could get lost in those beautiful blue eyes.

"Am... am I dreaming?" I blurted as I pinched myself desperately and closed my eyes. The slight pain caused me to open my eyes and still see the impeccably dressed Mr. Deverill. Yep, that ring was still on his finger. Aw shucks.

He laughed at my stupidity and pulled out some paperwork and a quill out of his briefcase.

"No, you're not. I've personally been to a couple of Hogwarts games in the past year or so since I started coaching. You were the only one I was impressed with enough to allow into our reserves so early on," he informed me as he took a seat in the chair besides the hospital bed. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that anyone would kill for. You and Oliver Wood are the only lucky ones to have received a chance before you graduated from Hogwarts..."

My pulse sped up at the mention of my ex-captain's name. I forgot that Puddlemere was the same exact team him and a lot of Hogwarts alumni were currently playing on. It would be awesome to see familiar faces in the big professional world of Quidditch.

That was enough incentive for me to sign the contract, so I reached for the quill that was in his hand.

"But I must inform you of _all_ areas of the contract that may dissuade you from playing with the team," Mr. Deverill reminded as he pulled the feather out of my reach.

"What is it?" I asked. I could feel my eyes narrow a bit at Mr. Deverill's peculiar behavior. There was something that was off about his arrival in my hospital room. He never visits the future players. If I remember correctly, all Oliver received was a simple note at graduation.

Granted, I'm pretty sure that no one else had the stupidity to get cursed by a pretty necklace. Maybe Mr. Deverill just felt sorry for me and my condition...

The businessman chewed on his cheek before looking at me with those pretty blue eyes. "I'm sure you know about the Wadcock Catastrophe of 1900, yes?"

I nodded. Who _didn't_ know of the Wadcock Catastrophe?

Joscelind Wadcock was an excellent Quidditch player. In fact, she was the first female athlete to join Puddlemere. It was an achievement for women in the Wizarding world, because Puddlemere had previously been an all-male team.

Unfortunately, because the men couldn't control their hormones, a lot of things started to happen. Joscelind began dating one of the other Chasers, and the Beater had developed feelings for her. Instead of hitting the other team, the Beater made his romantic rival his number one target. It cost Puddlemere a championship, and they kicked Joscelind off the team.

Since then, they never allowed another girl on their team... Wait a minute, what? I _am _a girl!

"But... But I am a girl!" I sputtered. Oh great, he's going to think I'm a madwoman now.

"Which is precisely why I'm introducing you to this little portion to your contract," he responded as he pointed to a paragraph at the bottom. "As the oldest team in the BIQL, we have never allowed females to join our ranks. If we did see a worthy female with exceptional skill, we would give her the opportunity to play as a Polyjuiced-male. Because of the gravity of the situation, only one Polyjuiced-male could be on the team at any given time.

"Aeolus Kamdon, one of the greatest Quidditch Chasers in our history, was actually a woman named Abigail Karlsson who followed through with this age-old addendum. She single-handedly brought us to a championship in the 1700s. She is not the only secret of our team. Many others have garnered star quality with our team.

"Wadcock was not easy to convince. She insisted on playing under her real identity or else she wouldn't play at all. They relented, and it cost us the Cup. They figured Wadcock could take one for the team, because she was a beautiful woman surrounded by men at their prime. She distracted them too much from the goal. The PU Board had called for the addendum to be reinstated and it has been ever since. Having this alter-ego will allow you to keep your private life separate from your public life, which many of the teammates long for.

"We've seen you play, and you're an amazing and unpredictable flyer, which makes you a valuable asset to the team. You wouldn't need to stay on reserves for too long and..."

The idea struck me like a thunderbolt as Mr. Deverill continued to babble on and on. Mr. Deverill wasn't here because he felt sorry for me; he was here because someone needed to butter me up!

"... and this is a once-in-a-lifetime event. We are the oldest team and the reigning champions. Only the best of Hogwarts have been inducted in our team and..."

I chose to ignore him now. He was clearly trying his best to convince me that I would play on their team.

Ollie was on their team, so it probably wouldn't be so bad. Having a familiar face would make things easier, but I would have to take on an alias if I were to disguise myself. I wouldn't get to act the way I normally do around my ex-captain.

Here's the thing though. I've always wanted to be a professional Quidditch player. In order to be guaranteed a spot, you'd have to either get spotted during school matches, or have made a name for yourself during trials. The trials are super-competitive and extremely hard to get through. Getting spotted is only for the cream of the crop. It was rare, and when a professional team made that offer, they really wanted you.

Apparently, _I_ was that cream of the crop. If flattery was the way that Mr. Deverill would charm me into his team, it was working.

This really was a once-in-a-lifetime event, and Mr. Deverill was risking a whole lot to ask me to join the reserves. Besides, all I ever wanted my whole life was to play Quidditch professionally.

Before I could even register what was going on, my hand went on autopilot and grabbed a hold of the quill that Mr. Deverill offered to me. His eyes held a glint of excitement as I reached for the parchment.

As soon as I did, my heart faltered. I'm pretty sure no good can come from this.

"You are absolutely positive you can go through with this? You have to promise that you won't reveal your true identity to the team, and that you will not initiate any sort of romantic relationship with them. I don't care about what _Witch Weekly_ says. Hormones are not welcome on my pitch," Mr. Deverill continued with a stern demeanor. I saw his jaw clench. It was clear that he was nervous about me signing the contract.

I gulped. Sure, _Witch Weekly _consistently wrote about Puddlemere United's hot line-up, but I wasn't really one to follow the tabloids. I had a crush on Philbert Deverill growing up, but that was because he was a legend! Legends don't count, and... he's married. I could never lower myself to be a mistress of some sort. Like he would even consider that, as I'm nothing compared to his supermodel wife who gave him five kids.

Yep, I'm a mess. Guys usually go for the girly-girly type, like Alicia, or the va-va-voom bombshell type, like Angelina. I never cared much for make-up or frills, so they could rest their hormones around me. Dating and romantic relationships shouldn't be a problem.

According to Fred and George, I'm just one of the guys. Guys only saw me as friend or little-sister material, which didn't really bother me. I wasn't one who bothered with crushes on people I knew personally, cause Merlin, it's awkward.

However, I couldn't help but feel as if I've signed away my soul after I wrote my name on the parchment.

* * *

Thanks for reading and please review!


	2. 2: Transformation

**Author's Note:** I know this has taken me forever, but I've got lots of stuff to do now! As a college student (a music one at that), not only do I have to devote a lot of time to studying, I need to practice as well! For now, I'm just going to think of this as exercising my fingertips.

**Previously...**

Katie is hospitalized at St. Mungo's, bored out of her mind. Suddenly, the amazing Philbert Deverill has come to save the day by flashing a Quidditch contract in her face. This is Katie's dream come true, but the only problem is that little addendum that requires her to be a Polyjuiced male on the pitch.

* * *

**Chapter Two - Transformation**

After signing the contract, Mr. Deverill had me moved to a private room. Even if I did like the new luxurious quarters I was placed in, a part of me longed for Mr. Owen's snores to lull me to sleep. It's so eerily quiet that I can't sleep. Yep, I'm that depressing.

Apparently now that I have been taken under the Puddlemere wing, Mr. Deverill has assigned me some coaches to help me acclimate to the male form. My lesson was to start as soon as the sun rose the next day, and I still have not gotten any sleep.

From my window, I could see the sun rising. I don't know if it was charmed that way, or it had been the real outdoors. A part of me hoped that it was fake, but from the commotion outside the door, I knew that wasn't true.

Dear Merlin, I hope that I will survive this. I hope that this is all a dream. I hope that this-

The door slammed open to reveal two ginger-haired twins holding a bottle of emerald green liquid and sloppy grins on their faces.

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK. This _cannot_ be happening.

"What's the face for, Katie-kins?" one of the twins asked as he swirled the bottle around.

Out of all the people that Mr. Deverill could get to assist me, he assigns Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumber.

"Why Gred, I think we need to explain the reason of our presence..." the other twin pretended to ponder about the thought.

"But Forge! Isn't it obvious? We're the owners of the best gag gift shop in town. It isn't a surprise the famous Mr. Deverill personally asked us for our service..."

"Precisely! Which is why he offered to pay us five times the amount of a monthly salary to teach little Katie-kins how to be a man in a week..."

"With an offer like that, we couldn't even refuse. Especially at the end of our session, we'll summon in the oblivious Ollie-kins to test out your appearance."

I choked when the twins mentioned the presence of Oliver. Why did _he_ have to be my test subject? The twins knew perfectly well that Ollie and I are attached by the hip. Ollie has known me since I was still wearing diapers! He would be the first to know that it was me, because he knew me inside-out.

Oliver is pretty much my big brother from another mother. Having to act like a guy around him is pretty embarrassing.

"Now Katie, must you look so horrified?" one of the twins interrupted my inner monologue.

"Oliver would be the perfect test because he wouldn't hesitate to call you out on this. He'll be able to tell you apart, because _you're_ so special to him," the other twin added with a wink.

"And by special, we mean _super_ special," they both said in unison. Ugh, they have got to be the most nauseating set of twins anyone would have the fortune to meet.

Of course, I knew what they were talking about. Oliver is my older brother. Clearly, I was special to him.

"Duh, I'm like his little sister," I responded as if they should've known all along.

The gingers both smacked their foreheads with their palms. "Oh darling, you have so much to learn..." they responded to my statement as if I was a little child, "... which is why we're taking you under our wing."

I pouted. If there was anything I hated more, it was that everyone liked to 'baby' me. Sure, I'm as childish as one can get, but only my parents (okay, and Oliver too...) are allowed to treat me like that.

"Aw, don't you think she looks so adorable, Forge?"

Both tried to pinch my cheeks but I bit their hands before they could even do that.

"Gee, vicious little thing we got here, eh? Time to give her the potion, Gred."

Forge, who I knew was Fred by the birthmark on his arm, got the sparkly, purple potion with flecks of pink and blue from his pocket and sprinkled it over a conjured glass of water.

"Katie, this isn't just any Polyjuice Potion. This potion specifically adjusts with your estrogen and testosterone levels for the duration of six hours. It is imperative that you bring a flask of this everywhere you go, because you never know when it'll wear off. They're quite difficult to make, but you should be able to have a month's supply by the end of the week..."

I was getting a headache with their constant switching around, and partially because I was still weaning of the numerous medications I had been prescribed. Okay, so maybe the real reason was I was annoyed, but I could easily play the weakling role in this setting too.

"Guys, I'm not feeling too well, so can we get this over with as quickly as possible?" I asked. "Just let me know what I need to do to convince people I'm a-"

Just when my mouth was open wide to speak the 'a' vowel, Fred chose this moment to stuff the potion down my throat. The bitter taste of the leeches mixed with lacewing flies made me almost puke. I had never had the fortune to drink the Polyjuice Potion, but I do remember the insect ingredients that made me shiver.

It was then that I felt my body morph, but the feeling wasn't too uncomfortable. It still felt like I was in my own skin, as compared to feeling totally different.

"Love, you look like you, but more positively... boyish," George stated as he transfigured a mirror so I could look at myself.

I still had some similar facial features, except my nose was slightly more pointed, eyes a little more slanted, my lips a little thinner, and my hair had gotten shorter and turned dirty blond. Other than that, nothing much changed about my appearance.

I could still recognize myself, and that was a problem.

"I thought I was supposed to have different features? Like... shouldn't I have black hair...? I look like my imaginary twin brother!" I shrieked as I kept scrutinizing my reflection.

"We couldn't change a lot of your appearance, because it could potentially decrease your performance as a Quidditch player. We didn't want to mess around with your genes too much, because you're going to be under the effects of this potion for longer periods of time. This is as different as it gets, Katie-kins," Fred explained as he fastened the container.

"Changing your gender temporarily is a big enough change. Our previous experiences that involved changing the gender _and_ physical characteristics, like skin color and hair, involved permanent damage to our subjects. We love you too much to kill you off with a dangerous potion like this one," George continued for his brother.

But couldn't they have gotten some DNA from some random male specimen so that I could have his features? That didn't make any sense.

Fred clicked his tongue to gather my attention. Apparently, it was obvious that I was still confused on the manner because of the expression on my face. Gee, I have to learn how to use my poker face.

"And you're wondering why we didn't just get some random person's genetic material and use it? This goes back to the skill issue. You will not be used to someone else's physical form. We had to keep your body in the same condition, otherwise, you'd be learning how to play Quidditch for the second time. They need you as soon as you're out of here, and they can't waste any more time without a second-string center chaser," Fred informed me as he scribbled something on some parchment. From what I could see, it looked like he was taking note of the potion's effects.

I let out a sigh. If I had to sacrifice my skills, Mr. Deverill wouldn't be too pleased. It would be for the best. I just hoped to Merlin that Ollie wouldn't know it was me.

"Now, it's time for your lessons, Katie-kins. It shouldn't take that long, since you're such a smart cookie!" George exclaimed enthusiastically as he lifted me off the hospital cot. "Aren't you the least bit excited about how the opposite sex functions? I know if I was in a woman's body I would-"

I smacked George in the face with a pillow for his perverted comment.

"Just teach me behavioral stuff. I'm pretty sure I can handle pissing," I told them. "Like... walking. I know guys walk all-"

The moment I said that, Fred jerked me out of the bed.

"Okay Ms. Know-It-All, err... Mister... err... this is highly confusing," Fred mused to himself. "Kit-Kat. Show us how guys walk." He folded his arms over his chest to emphasize the challenge.

Oh yeah. I'll show him. I immediately slouched over and walked with a swagger. I made sure that my hips didn't sway like it would normally.

All I got in response were two redheads laughing until their faces were the same shades of their hair. Great. What did I do wrong?

"You're over-exaggerating it. You look like some... What do they call it? You know those guys that have their underwear all over the place? The ones that wear really loose Muggle clothing that doesn't fit them?" George asked his brother.

I wanted to bang my heads against the wall. This was going to take longer than I thought.

"Anyways, just relax a bit. Don't over-exaggerate it. If you concentrate too hard, you're going to be obvious," Fred advised. "Like this." He gestured to his brother.

The only significant differences I saw between how I normally walked and how George walked were that his hips didn't sway and that he walked more briskly. Okay, so maybe I did over-exaggerate. I could feel my cheeks burning due to embarrassment.

"Hey, Katie-kins. Don't feel so bad," George reassured as patted my back. "You've got some personality characteristics that you don't have to worry about."

It was at this moment that I chose to kill George with my eyes. He didn't even cower.

"Katie, you know, all you look like when you make that face is a little disgruntled sourpuss. It makes people want to put ribbons on your head and hug you," Fred stated his observation as he pinched my cheeks. Not funny. I swatted him away as fast as I could.

"Hey, I don't appreciate the criticism. Both genders can make that face without people questioning their sexuality!" I pointed out as I huffed indignantly.

"But they question your maturity," George added his input.

Another sigh. I guess the more I complain, the longer this will take, and the more my self-esteem will suffer.

"So what is it that I don't have to worry about?" I asked as I gazed at my nails. When I realized that this wasn't a manly habit to have, I quickly shoved them in my pockets... only to realize that the patient gown doesn't have any.

"Well, don't you have the parchment Gred?" Fred asked his sibling.

"Quit the confusing act, I know you're Fred," I interjected. It was his turn to look at me like a disgruntled kitten. I stuck my tongue out at him and smiled.

Then, George dug in his pockets and pull out a crumpled piece of parchment. When he unrolled it, I saw that it wasn't as long as I thought it would be. Okay, so maybe my self-esteem will be salvaged.

"One, you're not like Alicia in which you cry over breaking a nail, and you don't use make-up often. Two, you're not overly flirtatious like Alicia, so you won't have a problem with unwanted romantic intere..."

"George, I believe we forgot to insert that little tidbit about Ollie-kins," Fred interrupted his brother. George only shrugged.

"Well, Ollie isn't going to act on it if he doesn't know it's Katie we're dealing with, and not... Kyle Bedford? Kyle Bedford," he said as he scrutinized the parchment once more. With a sigh, he crumpled up the parchment and disintegrated it with a charm. "Everything on that paper isn't necessary. What we need to teach you is how to sit like a guy. Fred, you can do the honors."

Fred plopped himself down on a chair and signaled for me to do the same. So I plopped myself on the seat next to him. I tried to keep my legs close together, but it was highly uncomfortable.

"Your legs are too close together. Now that you have man parts, think about how they're going to breathe. That position isn't as comfortable as you think," Fred advised. "Slouch a little bit too. Perfect posture is not that important for a guy."

I kept his little bits of advice in mind and followed his instructions. When I did this, both brothers high-fived one another in achievement.

"You learn pretty quickly Katie-kins. It's almost like you were meant for this!" George joked. I smothered his face with the chair's cushion just as quickly as he said that.

* * *

Apparently, I needed a lot more training than I thought. It was like learning to be a whole new different person... Oh wait a minute, I _am_ learning to be a whole new different person. I had to learn how to eat improperly, and know what topics to touch on and not to discuss in conversations.

There was something new that I learned about myself throughout these lessons, and it is what has kept me up at this hour.

According to Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumber, I am a natural flirt.

Since when was I, Katie Bell, a natural flirt? I have never had a boyfriend in my entire life. I don't dress up. I don't get asked to go to Hogsmeade. I've actually never thought of anyone in a romantic sense. Okay, so I've had crushes before, but they were outlandish crushes like Philbert Deverill (who is a Quidditch god) and... I think my crush list stops there.

"_Well, Katie-kins, I don't think you realize how much a natural flirt you are. It attracts a lot of the male species of our race, you know? You have a charm that gets everyone to instantly like you, and that can be dangerous if used in the right way."_

Fred's voice echoed over and over in my head. If guys were attracted to wallflowers, then it would make sense. But Fred and George have their sights set on Angelina (I'm not asking for them to like me, I'm just pointing out the obvious). Alicia, well, she happens to get the attention of just about every other Gryffindor male. I've even eavesdropped on Dean and Seamus talking about how they loved the shape of Alicia's breasts.

_I _don't even have breasts, err... well, breasts her size. I _definitely_ won't have breasts if I am Kyle Bedford. So how the crap does that make me a natural flirt?

I just don't understand things, and this is making me even more anxious and uncomfortable. Plus the fact that I'm finally being discharged tomorrow and the first stop I'm making is the Puddlemere United gym. It's off-season, and none of the players should be there, but Oliver is not a normal player. He's a maniac. Of course he'll be there practicing.

The twins aren't going to be there for emotional support. They said I could handle this perfectly on my own _and_ it would give my identity away if they were there. Curse them for being so right.

I hope to Merlin that everything will be all right. I just don't what to do myself if Oliver found out...

* * *

The Puddlemere Gym is probably the most extravagant gym that I have ever had the fortune to step into. This is a lot to say, because my father is a professional football player in Manchester. They have the best training facilities for any athlete in the Muggle world, and this just blew me away.

I think the better part of this was that all the weight machines and fancy Quidditch training gear was available for my use _only_. Plus, everything had a splash of my favorite color, which happened to be Puddlemere's navy blue. I understand that's a girly reason to point out, but no one can read my thoughts, can they?

"So ye hae tae be the new gadge*," a deep Scottish voice interrupted my thoughts.

Of course, Oliver was here. He was the reason why I was here in the first place!

"Oliver!" I squealed just as I was about to hug him, only to see a look of confusion in his amber eyes. Whoops, forgot I was Kyle Bedford. I cleared my throat to speak in a lower register. "Ahem... I mean, Wood. It's nice to finally meet you. I'm a huge fan of your skills... man."

Ugh, I have to sound like the most awkward guy in all of history. Probably because I'm _not_ a guy. I wonder how the other girls coped. Then again, they probably didn't have time to socialize. I placed my arms back down to my sides. I hope to Merlin that he didn't have any clue as to what was going on in my mind.

His puzzled expression transformed to a smile. I could tell the 'fan' tidbit was a boost to his self-confidence, because he puffed up his chest. Ugh, males and their egos. At this point, I wanted to smack him, but I don't think he would take too kindly to that.

"Thanks man," he held out his hand so I could give him a 'bro-pat on the back' or however the twins referred to it as. I elbowed his shoulder a little too hard and he winced. I forgot how bony my shoulders were, but it's okay, because I need to bruise his ego a little bit.

"Ye play Keeper? A thought the open position wis Center Chaser*?" he questioned as he positioned himself at the weight machine besides me. It was now that I noticed Ollie's muscles and how shapely they were and how ridiculously shiny they were from sweat and how smelly...

Katie. You've got to keep masculine thoughts in mind and you must not at all costs, scrunch up your nose. No matter how much body odor you smell.

It was then that Ollie stopped to look at me and laughed. Oh Merlin. He figured out. His throaty chuckle must mean that he knows my secret mission.

"I am Center Chaser. That doesn't mean I don't get to admire the other players. They're just as important to the team as everyone else, and it's how everyone works together. You seem to always be on the lookout for others, and I think that's what makes you a good Keeper," I blabbed without hesitating.

Thank Merlin for all the late-night Quidditch talks with Oliver. I just hope he doesn't make the connection with my ideas with 'Kyle's' ideas.

He smiled and patted me on the back. "Yer good, kid. A think ye gang tae mak it far on the team. If ever ye need athing, daen hesitate tae ask. A gotta continue trainin', but it wis nice meetin' ye*," he complimented me, before he left the gym to what I presumed was the pitch.

Yes! Ollie didn't figure out! Mission accomplished. I made sure Ollie was out of the room before I did my usual celebratory dance. Now time for exposure to the rest of the teammates. Let me at 'em!

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading and please review! I will try to update this one more regularly because I actually have this one planned out.

I also hope that the Scottish-accent writing didn't bother you too much. I'm trying to make it more believable. I wrote translations here at the end to assist with your reading. I don't know if I should continue with this, but it would be nice to get feedback.

**Oliver's Scottish**

"_So ye hae tae be the new gadge" _- "So you have to be the new guy"

"_Ye play Keeper? A thought the open position wis Center Chaser?"_ - "You play Keeper? I thought the open position was Center Chaser?

"_Yer good, kid. A think ye gang tae mak it far on the team. If ever ye need athing, daen hesitate tae ask. A gotta continue trainin', but it wis nice meetin' ye*" _- "You're good, kid. I think you're going to make it far on the team. If ever you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. I gotta continue training, but it was nice meeting you."


	3. 3: Meeting the Team

**Previously...**

Katie was approached by the Wonder Twins so that they could coach her in being a guy. They tested their results against Oliver, and Katie managed to trick him.

Also, I wrote Ollie's speech with a Scottish dialect, but I decided to toss it aside thanks to Gabrielav who pointed out it was difficult. You're awesome and thanks for your reviews!

**Chapter Three - Meeting the Team**

After what I assumed Oliver telling his point-of-view of the new reserve chaser, the twins reported to Deverill upon my success at fooling the keeper. At least, that's what I gathered. I really didn't appreciate Philbert Deverill shoving me into the locker room without any sort of guidance whatsoever. He apparently had other troubles that were more important at the moment, like dealing with finances or publicity or something along those lines.

My fangirl crush on him was dying a rather painful death. The man had absolutely zero cool points. Aside from being a phenomenal Quidditch player-turned-coach and his amazingly good looks for a middle-aged man, he was as interesting as a brick wall personality-wise.

Well, he had a reasonable excuse. I was an adult, and I should be able to act like one... right?

"You must be the new reserve Chaser," a voice to my right made me nearly jump out of my gym clothes.

I tried my best to keep my composure, to refrain from looking like a deer in headlights. If I made myself even more of a target, this whole Polyjuiced-Kyle-Bedford act will become even more unbearable. Thankfully, none of the players had even noticed that I entered their sanctuary. Some were already making their exit to the weight room.

"Yeah-" I responded in my normal high-pitched voice, but I quickly cleared my throat to cover up my slight mistake. I offered the rather lanky-looking man a smile, and I saw him smile back.

It was then that I realized that this man looked familiar, _really_ familiar. I couldn't really point my finger on it though, since I was never really good at names. Those friendly brown eyes had smiled at me once before.

He started to talk, but I really wasn't paying attention. I was still trying to figure out where I've seen this guy. His thicker-than-normal eyebrows were striking, but he still had a pretty decent face. His nose was a little bigger than most, but it was balanced out by a simple smile. He had a nerdy appeal to his features, which garnered even more of my trust. This guy had "nice guy" written all over him. This was a guy I needed to befriend.

How come I didn't recognize him as one of the players? He doesn't look like any of the first-string players... And why was he looking at me funny?

"Why are you looking at me funny?" the friendly guy asked me. His left eyebrow arched as he gazed at me in confusion. "Were you even listening to me earlier?"

Heh. He took the words out of my mouth.

"Sorry... do I know you?" I asked in a lower register, this time around. "You must be one of the reserves..."

His smile turned wider as he held his hand out. "I'm reserve seeker, actually. The name is Devon Summerby," he introduced himself. "I'm sorry if you didn't catch that earlier."

"No, no. It's my fault. I'm Kyle Bedford, from Durmstrang," Katie responded in her manly voice as she cleared her throat. "You just look familiar, that's all. I couldn't figure out from where though..." She warily put her hand in his and offered him a smile.

He seemed to stiffen for a moment, and shook her hand back. "I played Seeker for Hufflepuff in Hogwarts after Diggory," he informed her. "But you wouldn't know that if you were all the way in Durmstrang."

It was then that I knew who the boy in front of me was. Devon Summerby was in my year at Hogwarts. Seeing that it was currently July, school was no longer in session and he had probably graduated. Devon wasn't only known for his talents on the Quidditch field, which I knew was very excellent as he led his team to quite a few victories.

Devon had famous parents, parents that were always in the philanthropy section of the Prophet. His father was a famous artist, and fell in love with his mother when she modeled for him. They were the wizarding art society's golden couple, and Devon himself dabbled in a couple of paintings.

He was an art prodigy, having his own exhibit dedicated to some obscure blonde girl at the mere age of eleven. I remember going to the exhibit with her mother and the Woods. Of course, that was the time Ollie and I took the opportunity to pretend to be posh purebloods, and ended up getting both of our families kicked out of the museum. I still managed to look at some of Summerby's artwork, and the exquisite blending of the blues of the skies made me speechless.

It was a shame art like that would be tossed away for Quidditch, but the talent wasn't wasted at all. Summerby had talent on the pitch. While he didn't have as much bonding with the snitch as Harry did (Harry was a snitch-hog, I tell you), Summerby made racing for the snitch a work of art. It must've been in his bloodlines or something.

"What was Deverill thinking when he signed on a dunce for a reserve center chaser? Merlin forbid that Sacheverell quits, because I wouldn't want to be partnered with this braindead from Durmstrang," an obnoxious bass voice broke me out of my reverie.

I knew that voice from anywhere. It was the same voice that would yell insults at me before the owner of that voice would grab my blonde ponytail in his hands and yank me out of the way. He was a formidable rival on the Quidditch pitch, and managed to imprint himself in my memory after only two years of playing against each other.

"Flint, leave him alone," I heard Oliver's voice defending me. "He's probably a little shocked to be in the big leagues, aren't ya Bedford?"

Flint changed a lot during his Hogwarts days. He was almost troll-like before, but now, he looked every bit of the hotshot jock that was plastered all over the tabloids. Flint was almost always out with a different girl every week, due to his status as star left-wing chaser and the endless amounts of wealth his family boasted. He wasn't as physically attractive as Oliver, but he had that bad-boy quality that was certainly appealing to the masses. His hair was now styled in a crew cut, which left his aristocratic cheekbones for the girls to admire.

I can clearly remember hearing Alicia, with a cheesy wink and grin, say, 'Flint can rough _me_ up a little, if you know what I mean.' The thought of Alicia and Flint being together gave me the heebie-jeebies.

I felt Oliver's arm wrap around my shoulders. He always did that to me when I was in trouble, and it was always comforting. It was natural for him to take on the 'big brother' role for anyone.

"I'll be taking this little one under my wing, train him to be-" Oliver started but Flint snatched me from his grip.

"Use your common sense, Wood. A keeper can't train a chaser! That's a chaser's job, right little fella?" Flint's booming baritone was enough to cause an earthquake in the locker room. He was just as loud and boisterous as he had been when he was in Hogwarts.

Flint's muscly (and sweaty) arm had replaced Oliver's, and I really didn't appreciate him ruffling up my hair when he did so. Flint made me feel even smaller than Oliver did, as he towered him by at least three inches. Flint could never replace Oliver as my older brother.

"The name's Kyle Bedford, dude," I tried my best to sound like a normal guy. I cringed inwardly, for I really sounded like a total douchebag.

Good thing the guy I was talking to was the King of Douchebags.

"The name's Marcus Flint, dude," the guy totally mocked me, but held his hand up for a high-five. Good! Now I can practice the high-five, dude hug that the twins made me practice over and over again.

My small hand slapped against his, and the idea was that our shoulder were to collide softly. Must've been too enthusiastic in the move, because I felt him wince in pain against my shoulder.

"Man, you're a little bony. Good thing we're about to train so you can get some muscles," the scruffy chaser commented as he rubbed his sore spot. "You don't have to worry, Wood. It's not like I'm some troll who stuffs all the reserves in a cauldron and eats them up for supper. See, Summerby made it out alive."

Flint ruffled up Devon's hair the same way he did mine. It was nice to know that I wasn't the only one being looked down upon in this locker room. I looked over to Devon's kind eyes and saw that he looked at me sympathetically. He would know how it was like to be the new kid on the block, for sure.

When I looked over to Ollie, I saw that he looked like he ate a sour apple, his handsome face all squished in and eyes all squinted. It was the face I would imitate when we were kids, just to spite him. I fought the urge to do that right now, because that would be a dead giveaway to my real identity.

"Wouldn't want Bedford to steal all of your spotlight, do you, Flint?" Devon tried his best to stand up for me. "All of us had to go through the normal tryouts, but Bedford must've been a real find. The last person to have been reined in without tryouts must've been-"

I heard Ollie clear his throat as he prepared to speak. Ollie could never resist a moment to put in his two sickles when it came to Quidditch.

"Philbert Deverill, himself. The legend. You might make a name for yourself here in Puddlemere, won't you, Bedford?" Ollie asked me.

"Sure?" I answered with a confused look.

To be honest, I have no idea why I was one of those people who didn't need tryouts to prove a name for myself. I never really put myself out there and never really thought about a career in the big leagues. Sure, I loved Quidditch and it had always been a far-fetched dream of mine, but I was realistic.

I always knew it wouldn't happen for me.

Deverill never really saw me on the field as much as the others. Scouts only really pay attention to the older students or the captains. For my time at Hogwarts, I was never any of those. My fifth year, Quidditch was cancelled for the Tri-Wizard tournament. My sixth year, Ange was captain, and while we were phenomenal, it wasn't the best way we had played in a while with replacements for Harry, Fred, and George. I was barely there for my seventh year, because of that cursed necklace.

How in the world was I chosen to be in the big leagues over Angelina, a girl who made team captain, and was much more dedicated to getting here than I was?

It was then that I felt someone roughly jerk my arm to the left, towards the other players. I looked up, startled when Flint's grey-green eyes bore into mine. Ollie and Devon had already left for the weight room.

"What are you waiting for? Gotta introduce you to the rest of the team, Be-" he stopped and shook his head for a moment. "C'mon Durmstrang. If you continue to space out, the others will never respect you for your ability."

I was a little confused by his sudden hesitation, because it was so uncharacteristic of him. If there was anything that Flint was, it was that he was so sure of himself even if he was in the wrong.

I wished for anything, that Merlin would grant me that same confidence when I faced the others in the weight room.

* * *

Somehow, I managed to survive the meeting the team today. It was sure tiring to be walking around in Kyle Bedford's shoes. I was constantly on edge to make sure I didn't make any mistakes or flaws, and I felt like I survived everything pretty well.

The journey home was a complicated one, because of the measures that Deverill made me undergo. 'Kyle Bedford's' flat only consisted of a fireplace connected to my room at home via the Floo network. I wasn't allowed to even tell my own mother about my newfound career! Deverill reassured it a safety precaution, limiting Kyle's communications only with Puddlemere, and a few of the staff of Durmstrang to back up my alibi.

Not sure if the team loves me yet (especially Sacheverell because I'm assigned to take over his beloved spot as center chaser), but I do know they will have to learn to work with my different playing style. According to what Deverill said about me, my playing style was something refreshing and different for the pitch that it would throw a lot of people off.

Okay, so I was a little more flexible than most and my smaller frame made it easier to dodge, but that didn't really mean much, right? I was also a pretty decent thrower, but I don't think that makes me different from any other female chasers that played professionally. I really couldn't wrap my head around what was so special about me that it gave me a headache.

Thank goodness for Ollie's nifty post-practice charms. He taught the old Gryffindor team these little magic-masseuse tricks so that it could relieve the stress from our muscles to keep them in tip-top condition. It was this plus the pillowtop I wisely invested in that was the cure to my exhaustive day. Eventually, the Polyjuice potion wore off and I was just about to doze off.

Of course, the moment I finally felt myself drift off into dreamland was the moment Ollie's owl had to make its weekly visit. The familiar barn owl hooted as it tapped on my window violently, much like its owner's hasty entrances and exits.

"I'm coming, Frisby," I muttered as I reluctantly pulled my weak body off the mattress.

It was crazy-cool how durable Ollie and my friendship has lasted, even if we weren't at the same place most of the time. We were next-door neighbors, ever since my mother and father split up. Whenever my mother was working, his family would always welcome me with open arms.

Ollie and I grew up together, despite our age difference. The two of us were inseparable and attached at the hip. We both enjoyed my mother's homemade snickerdoodle cookies, and his father's specialty: haggis, neeps, and tatties. Ollie and I would stay up all night and listen to the scores of the latest Quidditch matches on the Wireless, even when our parents would tell us it was lights out or endless chores the next day. Chores were also fun whenever Ollie was involved, because we'd always end up making an even bigger mess.

When Ollie left for Hogwarts, he promised to owl me once a week. The tradition stopped once I was at Hogwarts with him, but when he graduated, he started to write again. Since he joined Puddlemere, he hasn't ever stopped. Most of the time, his letters are about of his rants about how he wants his team to work harder, and how gruesome it is working with familiar faces like Flint. When I woke up from my coma, I was also greeted to a pile of scrolls from Ollie.

He was the one who also told me about everyone's weird Quidditch habits of Puddlemere, so it was easy for me to recognize who was who in the weight room, and the appropriate things to say to them.

Sacheverell, the center chaser, was one of the older men who had a family of his own to take care of. Mersey, the right-wing chaser, was obsessed with Muggle vehicles. Taylor, the seeker, was in love with himself more than the team. Tilman was a friendly beater, and often served as comic relief for the crew. Samuels was the other beater, but he was one people mostly stayed away from because he rarely spoke much. He was the only one grunted at me, rather than say a few welcoming words. The other reserves weren't so bad either, and were all very similar to Summerby's friendly nature.

I would never realize that knowing the ins and outs of Puddlemere's first-string would be an advantage for me, so thanks Ol. It's still nice to know that throughout all these years, Ollie will always never fail at being my best friend.

Frisby, Ollie's barn owl, fluttered in the moment I opened the window. He hooted happily as he dropped the wrinkled parchment. Then, he would perform a little trick that mimicked one of Ollie's signature moves, and I would give him his expected treat. It was a routine I would never get tired of.

Once Frisby flew on his merry way towards Ollie's swanky flat, I relaxed against my bed again and opened the letter. He must've wrote about his encounter with his new teammate, and only I would be privy to the real thoughts of Oliver Wood.

_Dear Kit-Kat,_

_I heard you were finally released from St. Mungo's. Your mother insists that I not come over to your place, but I hardly see the reason why. She insists that you've locked yourself in your room for hours at a time, and that you're not ready to see anyone. Now that's no way to celebrate your release from that prison, is it?_

_Training with the team has commenced, but as you know, I've been training way ahead of time. I hope you've read my last letter which contained my suggested training regimen for you. I will not rest until you manage to get yourself on a professional team. Too bad Puddlemere doesn't take any girls, for you would've been a hellcat on this team._

_Speaking of Puddlemere, we've got a newbie that sounds like he's going to fit right in. He wasn't even part of the annual trials they have for Puddlemere, which means this kid has got to have some skill. The last one who was pulled in without having a trial was Deverill, and you know what kind of legend he was. I bet this new Kyle Bedford would be a perfect fit. I think you'd like him, because he doesn't sound half-bad. The boy confessed that he was a big fan of my work, which sounds like he's on the right path to success._

_But that's not important. It's __**your**__ path to success we need to work on, Kit-Kat. That way, our goals of becoming professional Quidditch players can be reached. I expect to see you at my family home this weekend in gymwear and trainers so we could get started. I've already got Holyhead considering you. You know our dreams aren't complete until you get in the big leagues too._

_Ol_

Reading the letter would've taken a lot less time if it wasn't so hard to decipher Ollie's chicken-scratch handwriting. Usually, I'm able to understand what he's written, but it seems this time he was writing even hastier than usual. There were smears of ink all over the place.

Then it occurred to me that practice had ended an hour ago. Ollie must've apparated straight home and wrote the letter for it to have arrived here so early. Gee, where did Ollie get this energy and why couldn't he hand it over to me?

Crap. How was I going to tell Oliver that I was already on a team? All I knew was that this weekend wasn't going to end well. I've really gotten myself in a mess, have I?

* * *

**A/N: **It took me _forever _to come up with this chapter! I seriously apologize. I've been sick for the past three weeks. I am sick and tired of being sick and tired... so I also rally apologize if this chapter seems half-assed. I tried my best while I'm under the influence of heavy drugs...

Thanks for reading and please review! I hope you liked this, and I would really like to hear what you think.


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